


i am your dagger, your sword, your poisoned arrow.

by AquaWolfGirl



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Assassin AU, Blood, Blood and Violence, Bodyguard AU, Dark Empress Rey AU, Death, F/M, Historical AU, Killing, More tags to be added, Oral, Throne Sex, Worship, dark rey au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29327325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/pseuds/AquaWolfGirl
Summary: As with all of his contracts, there is a chance of succeeding, and a chance of failing. Depending on the contract, this chance varies. He knew that his chance of succeeding at killing the Empress was slim to none, and so he's not at all shocked when he's caught. And yet, it seems fate has more in store for him when the Empress decides to use such a skilled assassin to her advantage. For many things.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 18
Kudos: 126





	i am your dagger, your sword, your poisoned arrow.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that I explored in an RP with my best friend with two of our characters, and have had in my head for a while for Rey and Ben. I'm so excited to finally be able to use my Dark Rey Pinterest board, you have no idea. 
> 
> This chapter's a bit shorter because I thought it was a fine place to end, but the other two chapters will be longer. And hotter. ;) 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

He was caught. 

It’s as simple as that. 

He’s been caught a few times before. After all, one does not become a skilled assassin overnight. There are mistakes to be made and lessons to be learned. But one lesson he has learned is that there is only so far denial and a claim of ignorance can go. And a claim of ignorance won’t go far when he was in the empress’s personal gardens, off-limits to the sort of servant he’d disguised himself as. 

There is no denial. There is no mistake. 

He was there to kill her. 

Ben tips his head back against the cold stone of the prison cell he was forcefully shoved into. He’s still wearing the clothes he stole from the laundry line a week ago, the linen too tight across his chest despite him grabbing the largest he could see. He’ll have bruises, he’s sure, from where the guards grabbed him. His lip is swollen, split in the scuffle that ensued once he was discovered. He aches, terribly, no mercy shown by the guards. Of course, that’s to be expected.

And he’s sure no mercy will be shown in terms of judgement. He’ll be dead within the hour, at best. 

Ah, well.

His life wasn’t the best. He has a few regrets, but none that he wishes to act on, or pray to the gods for, or anything of that sort. Even if he wished to, he can’t exactly call his mother to where he’s imprisoned for trying to assassinate the empress. No, his time is up, and he’ll have to make peace with it. He made his peace with the possibility when he accepted the contract. 

It was a slim chance that he’d succeed, but the coin that was promised…

You’re a fool. Putting your life on the line for a bit of money. Just like your father, though gods help me I love you both…

Ben sighs and tries to ignore the way the voice sounds like his mother, shifting and moving so that the cold stone isn’t digging as much into his shoulders. 

The rattling of metal catches his attention, and he turns, looking towards the door as a guard steps forward with a ring of keys. He has about seven more men behind him, and Ben raises a brow at the numbers. He is but one man, unarmed, bound, and dressed in shabby, plain clothes. Do they really need eight men to escort him to the chopping block?

“Up,” he’s ordered, harsh hands on his arms. He’s yanked to stand, the rope around his wrists chafing and rubbing as he’s moved. The prison has a few other people in it, no doubt for petty crimes or indecency or something of that sort. Nothing like the treason he’s committed. They may yet see another sunset. 

He expects to be led outside towards the courtyard, where the executions usually take place. But instead he is turned left, and walked up a set of spiraling stairs. One of the guards in front pushes the door open, and he finds himself staring at navy walls, meticulously hand-painted with black filigree. 

Well, that’s not right. 

He doesn’t dare open his mouth, knowing these guard types, knowing they will take anything he says or does as a sign of resistance and react as such. He’s already been bruised and battered enough, he doesn’t want more. So he walks along, his gaze finding art and statues and other decorations scattered throughout the halls. His bare feet sound odd against the deep mahogany floors, especially compared to the clanking and clunking of the guards and their metal armor. 

One of his questions is answered, at the very least, when they push him towards a set of double doors, intricately carved and the deepest ebony, and open them for him.

The throne room. 

The room is just as dark thematically as the doors to it would suggest. The only reprieve from such shadow is a large window above the empress, the glass clear but the lead detailing the beginning of the empire, the story of the empress’s grandfather. Ben blinks in the light. After spending hours in the prison cell where the only light came from a single flickering sconce, even with all of the darkness surrounding him in terms of color, there is still more light than he’s used to. He stares, walking forward as directed by the guards. 

Empress Rey sits on a throne of ebony, polished to its best so it reflects the few sconces around her. She’s beautiful, as he’d been told by his client. She is also young. Not so young that she can be considered a child, but her face is still smooth, the weight of the world not yet having touched the skin near her eyes or lips. A mere twenty years old, far younger than those who sat on this throne before her, but far more ruthless in of her progress towards an empire worth respecting — one worth worshipping, even. 

Even in all of the darkness and power, there is beauty. When he first saw her in the gardens, she had been in a pale grey shift, the freckles of her shoulders visible even from his hiding spot. Now, she’s changed, into a rich black gown. The collar comes high, halfway up her neck, and the sleeves hug her slender arms. The full skirt spills like a waterfall over where she has her legs crossed, her posture relaxed for someone who was almost killed not but a few hours ago. The gown could be considered modest, if not for the neckline, a thin slit that goes between her breasts and almost reaches her navel. Pale skin peeks out from shadow, and Ben shamelessly stares at the soft-looking flesh as he’s pushed forward. 

If he is to die, then let him look upon the beauty of a woman one last time. 

He’s forced down to the black marble floor, and he grunts as his knees take the brunt of his weight, as well as the force of the guards. He stares at the thin white lines throughout the dark stone, keeping his head bowed and mouth shut. He’s not a fool who will go out with a fight - a fight cannot be won today, not bound and without a weapon. He won’t speak unless he’s spoken to.

“So you’re the man who attempted to take my life.”

He remains quiet. 

“You may speak.”

Her voice echoes through the throne room, the melody of it bouncing off black marble and seeming even louder because of it. 

“Yes,” Ben replies. 

“What do you have against me?”

“Nothing.” It’s honest. 

“Nothing,” Empress Rey repeats. “Then why kill me?”

“I was promised a significant amount of coin, and coin is required to purchase things such as clean water, food, a place to—”

He doesn’t get a chance to continue before he’s pressed down against the marble, his chin hitting the stone hard. He groans, knowing he should have stopped, but such quips are in his blood.

“Coin,” the empress repeats. “Who paid you?”

“I don’t know.” It’s difficult to speak when his head is being forced against the marble. 

“Let him up.”

She is as ruthless as she is beautiful, he thinks, as he faces her once more. Her short dark brown hair has been curled, coming to her chin and accentuating her cheekbones and jaw. He rolls his shoulders, willing the uncomfortable tightness to go away. It doesn’t.

“Speak,” she orders. “Tell me what you know of your client.”

“He had a man come meet me at the port. Someone working for him. It was a different man each time. Nothing written down, only relayed between those men. I met them three times.”

“And you spoke about?”

“Planning. Timing. Payment,” Ben explains. 

He watches her shift. Her legs uncross, and she leans forward. Her slender hands look like ivory compared to the ebony beneath them, and she regards him with a look of what he supposes is curiosity. There’s a furrowed brow, yes, but no snarling or curled lips like those of loathing and hatred. Just … wondering. 

“And you are loyal to whom?” she asks. 

“Coin,” Ben replies. “I am loyal to no man nor woman, nor those who identify as both or neither. My actions are blamed on the promise of payment.”

There is a silence for a moment, before the empress stands. The full skirts of her gown rustle, and she makes her way towards him. She’s wearing heeled shoes, though he can’t see them. He can hear them, though, the way they click across the marble floor. The fullness of her skirt makes her waist look even smaller. She’s not the smallest woman he’s seen, that title still belongs to his mother, but he would bet she’d come up to his chin, perhaps less if he was standing upright. 

Which he is soon ordered to do.

“Bring him up,” Empress Rey says, and the guards yank him to his feet. Ben grits his teeth, narrowing his gaze at the woman before him as she looks up at him. That curiosity has left, and her pretty lips curl up ever so slightly as she watches him squirm to get comfortable in the hands of her guards. With every move, their hands become tighter, and he hisses in pain. If she takes pleasure in such things, she doesn’t show it. She just steps forward, hazel eyes curious. Contemplating. 

“You’re loyal to coin, you say. And what if I were to give you that coin?” she asks after a moment of silence.

With the promise of death on the horizon, he’d let his guard down, and failed to examine the room as he usually does. He hears the titters, first, the concerned mutterings, as his gaze darts to one of the sides of the throne. There he sees a scattering of older men, dressed just as darkly as the empress is. Shadow keeps him from seeing them fully, obscures their faces, but he can tell from the silver and white hair and hunched postures that they are older, and they are worried as she steps ever closer. He can smell her perfume now, the sweet florals mixed with something darker. Something like the spiced oils he sometimes smells in the market.

A hand comes to his jaw, tender fingers finding his skin before gripping. Not so tight as the guards’ hold, but a gesture of insistence. Ben returns his attention to the empress, finding her close enough that he can see her lashes, the stain of some pigment across her lips, the freckles across her cheeks. Gods, but she is stunning…

“What if I were to give you coin?” Empress Rey says, her voice louder and harder than before as she holds his gaze. “Would you be loyal to me?”

He stares down at her. “Yes.” It’s almost a question, his mind reeling as he tries to figure out just what exactly is happening here. Is she truly…? “Yes, I would be.”

Her fingers remain on his jaw, thumb stroking his skin almost reverently. “Release him. I wish to speak with him.”

The guards hesitate for a moment, before they let go of his arms. Ben can feel fingers fumbling at the rope around his wrists, and he winces as he’s released. His shoulders ache, and he brings his wrists forward, rubbing them as he looks down at the empress. 

There’s a moment, just a half of a heartbeat, where her face softens, and she looks her age instead of a woman trying to make herself look older, more powerful through clenched jaws and tight lips. She observes him, her deep brown eyes searching his before—

He feels the cool press of a blade into his palm. Just by feel alone, the hilt is more ornate than anything he’s ever used, and he knows he is now in possession of her personal weapon, the one she uses for her own defense. 

He has been given a choice, and he is expected to make it within moments.

He could kill her right now. 

But he’s curious, and so he stays, looking down at this beautiful woman as she leans in, their chests nearly brushing. 

“See those older men?” she asks. He can feel the warmth of her breath against the shell of his ear. 

“Yes,” Ben mutters.

“Kill them for me, and your life will not only be spared, but transformed. You will eat the ripest fruits. You will wear the finest silks. You will sleep in the softest beds. You will serve me for the rest of your days. Kill them, and you will be mine.”

“And if I do not?” Ben asks, keeping his gaze on the throne before him, refusing to look at her for fear of insulting her and being on the receiving end of another hidden dagger. 

“Then your head will roll across this floor.”

“The guards?” he asks. He keeps his voice low so that he is not heard by anyone but her.

“Of no consequence.”

It’s not a hard decision. “I suggest you step aside.”

Much to his surprise, she obeys. He can hear her heels, the swishing of her skirts across the marble floors, as she steps away from him. 

The moment he steps forward, there is a guard on him. Ben just barely hears the sound of a blade being partially removed from its sheath before he’s digging the blade up between the man’s ribs, familiar with the armor and its weak points after weeks of watching and studying their training from the trees above the sandpit. The man gurgles and falls, and Ben kicks back, his foot finding the chest of another guard and knocking him to the floor with a low grunt. Ben turns and slams his foot as hard as he can against the guard’s ribs, the armor doing little to protect the man from the force of Ben’s weight and instead crushing him further. The guard’s painted cry echoes across ebony and marble, and then, as suddenly as a summer storm, all hell breaks loose.

For men who are supposed to guard the palace and their empress well, they fail almost spectacularly. He slits throats, steals blades, uses their own shields against them to bash against their heads, the sound of metal upon metal echoing like a thunder crash through the throne room.

All throughout, the empress watches, not even stepping back when the pool of blood comes close to the edge of her skirts. 

The old men are easier than slaying a group of huddled hens. They cower in their rich and pretty things, their golden pendants and rings and velvet robes, an attempt to disguise their age and cruelty beneath wealth and power. His fingers and the clothes he stole are stained with the blood of those she wished dead, his back soaked with sweat and hair stringy from it, his chest heaving from exertion as he turns to look at the empress.

They are the only two living souls in this throne room. 

She walks forward towards him. She fully and willingly steps into the blood around what Ben assumes were her advisors. For a moment, he can see the awe in her face, the way her pretty lips part slightly, and she stares wide-eyed at the massacre at her feet. And then he blinks, and her expression can only be described as disdain, and disgust as she stares down at one particularly large man, his pudgy face now slack and bald head cracked open thanks to the heavy, steel hilt of a stolen sword.

Ben looks to her, dropping the guard’s weapon before offering her dagger back to her, hilt towards her so that she does not slice her skin on the sharp blade. The empress stares down at it, at the blood covering the weapon, before she reaches forward and takes it. She weights the dagger in her hand, looking at it and then at the bodies at their feet. 

“Come.” There is a shake to her words, but regardless, they are defiant, and he can see the way she tightens her shoulders, resuming the posture of a woman of power once more. “You will be my Hand. My guard. My companion. My confidant. You will do as I say.”

“Your Hand,” Ben repeats. He's heard of such a role, though the Empress hasn't had one before, to his knowledge.

“Yes. Do you take issue with such a position?”

“No,” he replies, honestly. 

The empress looks up at him before returning her gaze to the bodies before them. He lets her take her time, watches as her back straightens, her eyes on the men and their blood but not truly seeing. Ben waits for her command, remaining at her side.

“I’m honored to serve you,” he says, his mind still reeling from the past few minutes — hour, now, perhaps, how long has he been standing there and slaughtering?

Empress Rey turns her face towards him, and once more he’s treated to a sweet moment of seeing awe across her pretty before she steps away. “Come,” she says. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

Rooms. 

He will have rooms, instead of a hay pile in the stable as he waits for word of his expertise to make its way to the right ears…

His bare feet slosh through the blood, leaving footprints, the red only visible on the thin white streaks through the deep black marble.


End file.
